


To Hell With Why

by angelsaves



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bad Ideas, Christmas, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Sex Worker, Sexting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:11:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has been over Parse for ages. (At least, that's what he tells himself.)</p><p>In which there is bad-idea sex, accidental voyeurism, an invitation (or two) to a threesome, an actual threesome, and 0% "being over each other" by volume.</p><p>Betaed lightning-quick by the very excellent mardia!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Hell With Why

**Author's Note:**

> the mental health issues noted in the tags are only lightly touched on, but if you have concerns about them (or anything else), feel free to ask me for more details. 
> 
> title from "the boys are too refined," by the hush sound.
> 
> ETA: although the post date should make this clear, i want to be explicit in saying that this fic was written and posted before "Parse III," and so does not take that behavior into account.

Jack has been over Parse for ages. It was just one of those things, when they were in the Q -- proximity and figuring shit out. Then Jack broke down, and Parse went first in the draft, and they drifted apart. At least, that's how Jack phrases it to himself. In the back of his mind, he's aware that there are other ways to describe refusing to answer any of Parse's calls or texts or emails, but he prefers not to think about them.

He's not sure what makes him decide to invite Parse to the EpiKegster, after a couple of years of only seeing each other at the odd charity event or on Facebook (when he bothers to log into Facebook). It might be the awareness that he's going to be in the NHL soon, and they're bound to get asked about each other, so they might as well be friendly again. It might be the self-destructive part of him raising its head. Either way, he's pretty sure Parse will have better things to do than go to a college party, anyway.

He's wrong.

Jack drinks two and a half beers and watches at least a dozen people have their pictures taken with Parse before he comes up behind him and says quietly, "There's something I wanted to show you in my room."

Parse grins up at him, all easy confidence. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Jack says, and Parse follows him up the stairs. It's not smart -- it's not _safe_ \-- but he's fucking desperate to have Parse's cock in his mouth, and Parse is into it, letting Jack shove him down onto the bed and pull his cock out.

"Yeah, Jack, come on," Parse says, running his hands through Jack's hair, so Jack does, setting a rhythm with his hand and swirling his tongue around the head. "You're so good at this, fuck --"

Jack's really into it, digging the fingers of his free hand into Parse's thigh as he sucks. He's missed this, the heavy feel of a cock on his tongue, the press of the head into his throat, the smell of sweat and sex and Parse.

Too soon, Parse is saying, "Pull off, bro, I'm going to come." Jack kind of wants to swallow, but it's been so long that he's afraid he'll fuck it up, so he finishes Parse off with his hand and catches the come in a Kleenex.

He gets up to throw it in the trash, and when he comes back over, Parse hooks his leg around the back of Jack's knees and trips him onto the bed.

"Hi," Parse says, face close to Jack's.

"Hi," Jack says back, and bites his lip. He's not sure what the play is, here.

Parse must pick up on that, because he asks, "Can I kiss you?" instead of just going for it, like he would have back in the Q.

"Why?" Jack asks, and Parse laughs.

"Because I want to, bro, why else?" he says.

"Okay," Jack says, and Parse leans in, pressing their mouths together almost chastely. Jack feels weird about that, so he deepens the kiss immediately, running his tongue over the inside of Parse's lower lip. Parse goes with it, and puts one hand in the back pocket of Jack's chinos, palming his ass and pulling him in closer.

"Let me jerk you off," Parse says.

"People are going to miss you," Jack says, trying not to think about the hot press of Parse's thigh against his cock.

"Like I care?" Parse reaches into Jack's pants and wraps his hand around his cock.

"Maybe you should," Jack says, pulling away a little, which just feels good, so it probably wasn't his best plan.

"Well, I don't," Parse says. "Are you going to let me?"

"Yes," Jack says, and closes his eyes, thrusting up into Parse's fist.

"Good," Parse says. He kisses Jack again and jerks him harder, just the way he likes.

The fact that Parse remembers how he likes it is too much, too intense, even though they're athletes and muscle memory is kind of their thing. Jack squeezes his eyes shut tighter and lets out a noise that might be a whine against Parse's mouth.

"Yeah, that's right," Parse says, "come on, come for me," and Jack does, because he could say no to Parse if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

"Fuck, your shirt," Jack says, when he opens his eyes and realizes he's splashed Parse's chest with come.

"Whatever," Parse says. "Lend me a jersey?"

"You want one of my jerseys?" Jack asks blankly.

"Got a better idea?" Parse kisses Jack again, a dry press of lips, and gets to his feet.

Jack doesn't, so he digs out one of his Samwell jerseys and tosses it to Parse, who catches it deftly and pulls it on right over his messy shirt.

"I'll wash it," he promises.

"Okay," Jack says, and they go back downstairs. Parse immediately gets pulled into a conversation Jack doesn't care enough to follow, after the obligatory chirp about wearing his favorite player's jersey. He wants another drink, so he goes into the kitchen.

Then he immediately heads back out, because -- it's not like he didn't know Bitty was dating the beat-boxer from the a cappella group with the funny name, but he really _knows_ it now, having seen Bitty giving what's-his-name a serious hickey up against the kitchen counter. Good for Bitty.

Instead, he takes the Natty Light out of Chowder's hand and drinks that -- Chowder looks drunk enough already, even if there's only, like, two sips gone.

The rest of the party goes -- fine. It's fine. Jack doesn't really do much, just watches a couple of games of beer pong and tries not to stare at Parse. Eventually, almost everyone leaves -- Parse included -- and Jack goes back up to his room. He thinks about changing the sheets before he goes to sleep, but he doesn't do it.

***

Jack watches the highlights from the Aces/Falconers game late the next night, and the memory of his jersey on Parse's back hits him like a fist, making him blush in what would be a deeply embarrassing way if he weren't alone in his room. He wonders if Parse will return the jersey, then if he actually wants him to. The idea of Parse wearing it while he jerks off is -- kind of nice.

Actually, it's really nice, nice enough to make Jack do something that's probably really dumb. He texts Parse: _Are you busy?_

 _Nah_ , says the text he gets a moment later, then, _u want something? ;)_

He thinks about saying no, or that he just had a question about life in the NHL. Then he squares his shoulders and taps out: _What are you wearing?_

_is this a sext? my lil boy is growing up_

_Shut up, Parse._

_what if i said ur jersey_

That's exactly what Jack wanted to hear, and he likes seeing it in text. A lot. _I'd like that,_ he texts back.

_ur jersey n nothing else. i said id wash it, i lied_

"Crisse," Jack swears. The image of Parse in his jersey, with his come on it, is a really good one. _Are you touching yourself_

 _2 turned on 4 the ?_ Parse sends back immediately. He's always known Jack well -- maybe too well. A moment later, he adds, _y of course i am. thinking bout ur mouth_

Jack touches his lower lip with his fingers. He doesn't think of his mouth as anything special, but he likes that Parse does. _Yeah?_ he types.

_y i <3 it when u suck my dick. remember the time i fucked u_

Does he ever. It's a bittersweet memory, since it was the night before his overdose, but thinking about it now, hard in his boxer-briefs, he can ignore what came next and just think about Parse's slick cock filling him up, Parse's hands tight on his hips. _Yeah,_ he texts back, _I think about it a lot_.

_m2. u should finger urself_

_Okay,_ Jack texts back right away. That's something else he hasn't done in a long time, but he wants to, badly. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, getting them wet, and tugs off his underwear with his other hand.

_do it slow_

Jack grumbles a little, but he does as Parse says, slipping in one fingertip and letting himself stretch around it before easing it deeper. _Fine,_ he texts back, one-handed.

 _id do it slow make u beg 4 it,_ Parse goes on, and Jack almost swallows his tongue, he's so turned on. _r u doing it_

 _Yes,_ Jack types. _It feels good._

_fuck just came all over ur jersey_

Jack goes hot everywhere, and almost before he's doing it, fucks another spit-slick finger into himself. _Good._

_still want me 2 wash it_

_Keep it,_ Jack sends, and clenches down around his fingers. Fuck, he's close, and he's barely even touched his cock. He takes care of that, jerking himself hard and fast until he comes, the thought of Parse naked except for a Zimmermann jersey burning in the backs of his eyes.

***

The next morning, something goes wrong with the shower in Jack's bathroom, and he feels disgusting, so he goes to use Bitty's instead. The door isn't locked, but apparently that was an accident, because it's occupied: Bitty is giving it to his boyfriend, bent over the sink.

Jack stops short in the doorway, catching Bitty's eyes in the mirror, and then the beat-boxer says, "In or out, handsome." For another heartbeat, loud in his ears, Jack stares at their reflections, and then he turns and leaves.

 _I just got invited to a threesome, I think_ , he texts Parse.

 _and???_ Parse texts back, a few minutes later.

_It might have been a joke, I don't know._

_ppl r never joking abt 3somes w/ppl who look like u,_ Parse sends immediately.

Jack blushes. _Don't tell me that,_ he texts.

_sry u said no?_

He thinks about it. On the one hand, he's never had a threesome, and it's not like Bitty and his boyfriend aren't good-looking. On the other hand, it would probably have been incredibly awkward, not least because, well, Jack would have been there. _I don't know,_ he types finally.

 _id have a 3some w/u,_ Parse texts him after a while.

 _Thanks,_ Jack replies, then regrets it. That was probably the wrong thing to say.

_come visit me in vegas_

_Seriously?_ Whatever Jack was expecting him to say, it wasn't that.

_i know ur mostly looking @ ec teams but come check out the aces. ill find us a 3rd_

Jack actually considers it. Parse is right, he's been focused on Eastern Conference teams, and specifically teams near school and home, but there's no rule against looking at Las Vegas. _Yes to the first part, maybe to the second,_ he replies finally.

 _guy or girl?_ Parse texts back. Of course that's what he focuses on. Jack rolls his eyes fondly.

_Either way._

_cool_

There's a knock at the door. "Um, Jack?"

Jack scrubs his hand over his face. "Come in, Bittle."

Bitty comes in, looking embarrassed. "I just wanted to, um, apologize," he says, scuffing his feet on the carpet. "For not locking the door, and for what RJ said."

"It's fine," Jack says. "It was, um. Flattering?" Now he's blushing too, damn it.

"Oh," Bitty says. "Oh! Anyway, uh. Did you -- need something?"

"My shower's broken," Jack says, gesturing at it vaguely. "I was going to use yours, if that's okay?"

"Sure!" Bitty says. "It's free now. And I'll see if Dex can fix yours when he wakes up. He worked magic on Betsy, after all!"

"Thanks, Bittle." Jack picks up his towel and heads for Bitty's bathroom, sending Bitty scuttling back across the hall. Under the spray, he thinks about Bitty and RJ in the mirror, then shakes his head briskly. None of that, not in someone else's shower.

When Jack is clean and dry and getting into clean clothes, his phone buzzes. He's expecting a text from Parse, maybe; what he gets is a confirmation email for a round-trip ticket from YUL to LAS, departing on the 27th and coming back on the 30th.

He calls Parse. "I can't accept these," he says, not even bothering to say hello.

"Yeah, you can," Parse says. "I'm a fucking millionaire, bro. I can buy you a couple of plane tickets if I feel like it."

"No, you can't," Jack says, but he's pretty sure he's already lost this fight.

"I can, and I did," Parse says. "And you better show up. I'll have to pay for them anyway."

"Fine," Jack says. "I'll see you the day after Boxing Day, I guess."

"Wear something tight," Parse says, and hangs up on him.

***

They clean up the Haus once everyone wakes up -- thanks to Shitty's air horn and megaphone -- and Shitty drives Jack to Logan. They even get there on time, which is nothing short of a Christmas miracle, and going through customs, Jack discovers a package of cookies from Bitty. They're probably apology-cookies, but that doesn't make them any less delicious. He shoots off a quick thank-you text, then settles into an aisle seat to wait for his flight.

***

Christmas with Jack's family is -- it's not bad. It's traditions, the French-Canadian ones like going to midnight mass, and the hockey-family ones like watching the last Habs game before the break, and the Zimmermann family ones like staring at Jack like he's a ticking time bomb. He almost wants to do something completely bonkers, just to see if they have some kind of plan in place -- Maman dumps cold water on his head, Grandpapa Z has the psychiatric hospital on speed dial, maybe -- but not quite.

He's pretty sure he's not the only one who's relieved when, on Boxing Day, he tells them he'll be visiting a friend for a few days and needs a ride to the airport.

"Which friend, dear?" asks his mother.

"Uh, Kent Parson," Jack says, scratching the back of his head.

"Good," says Bad Bob, turning a page in the sports section. "You can get some first-hand advice on life in the NHL from someone who's been there this century."

"Yes," Jack says uncertainly.

His dad winks at him. "Of course, you won't have too much fun in Las Vegas," he goes on, a twinkle in his eye.

"Not too much," Jack agrees.

"I remember when we first expanded into Las Vegas," Bad Bob says, folding the paper. "Some of the things the younger guys got up to would curl your hair -- not me, of course, I had your mother to come home to --"

"Robert!"

"-- but you know what they say, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," Bad Bob finishes virtuously. "That's all I was going to say, Alicia!"

"Of course," she says, shaking her head.

**

Parse picks Jack up at the airport, and even meets him at baggage claim, which he wasn't expecting. "I didn't check anything," Jack says.

"Good," Parse says, and pulls him into a back-slapping hug. "I see you listened to me, for once."

"Uh," Jack says. "Yeah." It took him way too long to get dressed before his flight. He doesn't think he's worn this black t-shirt since high school, but the jeans are pretty new. He thinks they make his butt look good.

"We have an appointment," Parse says, leading the way to where he's parked.

"We do? But I didn't set anything up," Jack says. It's a weird time, too -- 4:30 PM, local time, according to Jack's phone.

"We do," Parse says, turning back so he can wink at Jack.

Oh. _That_ kind of appointment. Jack trips over his own feet and almost drops his backpack.

"Real smooth, Zimmermann," Parse says, but he gives him a hand up anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack says, blushing. They get to Parse's car, a sleek black SUV, and Jack climbs into the passenger seat while Parse goes around to the driver's side.

Parse's presets are, Jack discovers, all terrible. He changes the satellite radio to a classic rock station.

"I can't believe this is what you listen to," says Parse. "You're such a dad." He puts his hand on Jack's thigh, though, high up.

It gives Jack the boldness he needs to say, "You like it."

"Yeah," Parse says, over Led Zeppelin, "I do." He says it in a weird way, and when Jack glances over at him, his eyes look all -- soft.

He's not sure what to do with that. He rests his hand on top of Parse's and hopes that says the right thing.

"I've never gotten road head," Parse says lightly. "You up for it?"

"No," Jack says, because there are lines, and blowing Parse where people could see them crosses several. Even if the idea is getting him kind of hard.

Parse notices, of course, and smirks like the asshole he is. "Sure about that?"

"Not in public," Jack says firmly.

"How about in a gated underground garage?" Parse's hand creeps higher up Jack's thigh.

"Security cameras," Jack says, and pushes Parse's hand down a centimeter or two.

"No fun," Parse says, "you're no fun at all."

"That's me," Jack agrees. "Just ask my team."

"I don't know," Parse says. "Wasn't it one of them who asked you for a threeway?"

"No! ...It was his boyfriend."

Parse cracks up. "There goes my 'it's not gay if it's a threeway' joke," he says. "So are they hot?"

"I guess," Jack says. He hasn't really thought about it, aside from that one moment in the shower right after it happened. "You met Bitty -- he got a picture with you."

"He's pretty cute," Parse says agreeably. "I'd do him."

"Don't," Jack says without thinking.

"Don't what? Do your teammate?" Parse says. "I won't, that'd be, like, poaching or something."

Weirdly, that makes Jack feel better. "Okay," he says. "Good."

"We're here," Parse says, pulling into the garage beneath a high-rise.

"Nice," Jack says, looking around. The cars in here all look expensive and new, like Parse's, of course. Parse probably didn't get the "why buy a new car when you could buy a reliable older model and save money?" speech that Bad Bob liked to give when he got _his_ license.

"I live on the seventeenth floor," Parse tells him as they get into the elevator. "Want to make out in here? I bet I can get you hard before we hit 10."

"No," Jack says. Elevators are still too public -- Parse's neighbors probably know him, and he doesn't need that.

"Because you know I'd win," Parse says smugly.

Jack rolls his eyes. "Ouais, because I know you'd win."

"Ooh, do you know what it does to me when you speak French?" Parse says, falsetto.

"What's that?" Jack says.

"Literally nothing." Parse punches him in the arm. "At least, nothing more than when you speak English."

Jack smiles. He's saved from having to say anything by the elevator doors opening, and then Parse leads the way down the hall to his apartment.

"It's not much, but it's home," Parse says wryly, and Jack sees why -- the place is really, _really_ nice. Everything gleams, from the hardwood floors to the leather couches.

"Doing pretty well for yourself," Jack says, putting his hands in his pockets and slouching back against the door.

"This could be you in a year," Parse says, and steps close, into Jack's space.

They're almost the same height, so Jack doesn't have to stretch or hunch to kiss him, just stands up straight and slants his mouth against Parse's. Parse rests his hands on Jack's lower back, just above the swell of his ass. It feels weirdly romantic, like they're slow-dancing. Jack doesn't know how to feel about it.

"Let's have sex," Jack says, leaning away from the kiss.

"Can you hold out for another --" There's a knock on the door at Jack's back, and he jumps away, startled. "That's our appointment," Parse says, and grins.

He opens the door to reveal a guy with dark hair and dark eyes, on the lean side, almost pretty. "Hi," he says. "I'm Randy."

"I bet you are," Parse says, and laughs lecherously. "Come on in. I'm Kent, and this is -- J."

"Nice to meet you," Randy says. He looks around the apartment. "Nice place. So, is this your first time?"

"Doing what?" Jack hedges.

Parse laughs again. "It's his, not mine."

"Okay," Randy says. "Ground rules: condoms for any penetration -- yes, even blow jobs -- are either of you allergic to latex?" Jack shakes his head. He's starting to get the idea that Randy is -- a pro. Literally. Whoa. "Good. Rough stuff is okay, but nothing that breaks the skin. How about you two, any rules?"

Jack can't think of any -- he's liked everything he's done, sexually; he doesn't think he's very picky -- but Parse says, "Don't kiss him."

What? "I like kissing," Jack says.

"You can kiss me," Parse says. The look in his eyes is -- kind of intense.

"Okay," Jack says, and Randy says, "Fine by me," sounding like he thinks they're funny.

"Let's take this to the bedroom," Parse says.

"Lead on, Macduff," says Randy. Jack stifles a laugh; Randy looks pleased. They follow Parse into his bedroom, which looks -- pretty much the same as his billet room from back in the Q. The bed is much bigger, but the plaid flannel sheets are the same, and the hockey posters and pennants, and even --

"Doogie!" Jack says happily. He was never a stuffed-animal kind of guy himself, but it's nice to see Parse's battered plush dog, like an old friend.

"You saw _nothing_ ," Parse hisses, diving for the dog and stashing him under the bed. When he stands back up, he's blushing; he pulls his shirt off over his head, and the blush spreads blotchily down his neck, just like when they were teenagers.

"I've seen weirder," Randy says peaceably, and takes off his own shirt. He's a lot tanner than Parse or Jack himself, and less cut. "Well?"

Jack realizes he's overdressed, and takes off his shirt -- or tries to. It's so much tighter than he usually wears that he gets tangled up in it. "Tabarnak," he says into the fabric.

"I've got you," Parse says, and his hands are on Jack, easing the tight shirt off of his arms and head.

"Sweet," Randy says. "So, Kent, did you have a plan?"

"Not really," Parse says. "J's never had a threesome before, so I thought we could focus on him, but that's about it."

"Hmm." Randy looks Jack up and down. Jack resists the contradictory urges he has to either flex his pecs or cover himself with his hands, and just stands there. "I can work with that. What do you like, J?"

"Uh," Jack says. "Most things?"

"Helpful. How do you feel about getting your dick sucked?" Randy suggests.

Jack gulps. "Good," he says.

"You'll need to undress a little more," Parse says, and he comes up behind Jack and undoes his jeans for him.

"I knew that," Jack says crankily, "I'm not a virgin," and Parse and Randy both laugh.

"Hey, I didn't even tell you to go commando," Parse says, running one hand down Jack's bare hip. "Way to show initiative, there, J."

"Not bad," Randy says, looking at Jack admiringly. "I bet you want to feel that ass on your cock, Kent."

"Yeah," Parse says hoarsely, cupping Jack's ass in both hands. Jack bites down on his lower lip. It feels so good. He's getting seriously hard, just from being -- eyed and handled like this.

"So get your pants off," Randy says. He pulls a foil-wrapped condom out of his pocket, then takes his own advice. He's not wearing underwear either, and his cock is -- nice.

Parse has to let go of Jack to get out of his pants, which makes Jack want to whine embarrassingly, but a moment later, he's back, his bare cock pressed against the cleft of Jack's ass, and that's better.

"Good," Randy says. "Why don't you sit on Kent's lap, then, J, and we'll really get this party started?"

"Okay," Jack says. Parse sits down on the edge of his huge bed, pulling Jack down on top of him, balanced on his thick thighs, with his cock an insistent pressure. Jack gasps in spite of himself.

"Don't be afraid to make noise," Randy tells him. He gets down on his knees and opens the condom, then pops it in his mouth and raises his eyebrows comically. Jack's not sure what he's doing -- and then, oh, he's rolling the condom on Jack with his mouth.

"Neat trick," Parse says, close to Jack's ear, making him shiver.

Randy slides all the way off, his lips dragging along Jack's cock, says, "I'm good with my mouth," and proceeds to prove it. When Jack arches up into it, accidentally, Randy doesn't miss a beat, just takes Parse's hands from Jack's thighs and presses them hard into Jack's hips.

"Oh," Jack says, and " _oh,_ " because that isn't just okay, it's better. He leans his head back onto Parse's shoulder, because the visual of Randy deep-throating him is almost too much to take, and Parse kisses him. Jack moans into it, sucking on Parse's tongue and pushing up against his hands.

It's overwhelming, even with the condom on, being sucked like that and kissed like that, and Jack comes before he expects to. Randy sucks him through it, mouth moving on his softening cock, and Parse kisses him the whole time, like there's nothing he'd rather be doing.

Finally, Randy pulls off, making a wet little sound that makes Jack tingle, even this soon after coming. "Want me to get him ready for you, Kent?" he asks, his mouth red, taking the condom off of Jack.

"Yeah," Parse says, "but kiss me first." Randy gets to his feet and leans down to do it, pressing against Jack, who twists his neck awkwardly so he can watch. They look good together, especially from so close up that he can see every movement of their lips and tongues and teeth, hear every little hitch of breath.

Parse breaks the kiss, finally, and says, "Okay. I have lube."

"How do you want it, J?" Randy asks, resting one hand on Jack's shoulder.

"I don't know," he says. "However -- Kent wants me."

"Ass up, then," Parse says, and lets go of Jack's hips. "Get up for me."

Jack gets to his feet, unsteadily enough that Randy catches him by the elbow. "You good?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Jack says. "Just, I think you sucked all my coordination out through my dick." He laughs a little at that idea.

"I try," Randy says. "Here -- like this. That's good." He helps Jack arrange himself, ass up, like Parse wants.

"Here," Jack hears Parse say -- that must be the lube, because a second later, he feels a slick fingertip trail up his thigh, behind his balls, around his hole.

"You like that?" Randy asks, low, and Jack buries his head in his arms.

"Yeah," he makes himself say.

"You look so good like that," Parse says, next to Jack on the bed. "So pretty, so ready for me."

Jack is all set to say something to that, but Randy's finger dips inside of him, and all that comes out is a garbled sound. Parse laughs, then bends in and kisses Jack's neck. It feels good, and so do Randy's fingers stretching him open. Jack tries to lean into both touches at once, but it puts a crick in his back, so he just says, "More, please."

"I can do that," Randy says, and adds a third finger, as Parse sucks on Jack's neck. He's going to leave a mark, probably, but for once, Jack doesn't care. "Kent, think this is enough?"

"Yes," Jack says, before Parse can answer. He's ready. He wants Parse's cock in him now.

"You heard the man," Parse says. There's the rustle of another condom wrapper, and then the weird emptiness as Randy pulls his fingers out -- and Parse pushes in, just a little. "You okay?" he asks, fingers careful on Jack's lower back.

"I'm great," Jack says, "just --" He breathes through the stretch and burn. "Move. Please."

Parse does, filling him up slowly, then pulling back and sinking in again. "Fuck," he says, "you feel so good."

"Thanks," Jack says breathlessly. He thinks he could get it up again, maybe, if Parse just -- "Could you -- hold me harder? Like before?"

" _Fuck_ ," Parse says, with feeling, and curls his fingers tight into Jack's hips. "Like that?"

Jack moans, and doesn't even try to keep it in. "God, you guys are hot," Randy says, and that must inspire Parse or something, because he starts fucking him harder and faster, hips smacking into Jack's ass, and Jack moans again.

"Thanks, Randy," Parse says then. "The, ah, the envelope is on the table by the door."

"You're welcome," Randy says. "Call me any time, guys. Have fun."

"Thank you," Jack says, momentarily lost, but then Parse's cock hits his prostate just right, and all he can think about is Parse's hands, Parse's cock, Parse's breath hot and damp on the skin of his back. He holds out until he hears the door close behind Randy before "Parse, oh, fuck, Parse --" comes bursting out of him.

"Yeah, Jack, it's me. It's just me," Parse says, and kisses the back of Jack's neck, open-mouthed and wet.

"Good," Jack says, and Parse cries out, hips jerking forward as he comes. He pulls out and shoves Jack over onto his back, covering Jack with his body and kissing him frantically. Jack kisses back, because -- it's Parse, and Parse is his.

They lie there, tangled together, breathing hard between kisses. Jack doesn't manage to come again, but he doesn't really mind. After a while, Parse brushes some of Jack's sweaty hair back from his forehead and says, "It turns out I'm not very good at threesomes."

"I thought you were great," Jack says, and just because he wants to, laces his fingers with Parse's.

"I wasn't going to kick him out," Parse says. "I'm usually more polite than that."

"He seemed okay with it," Jack says. "I mean, unless he fucked with your shit on the way out."

Parse laughs. "There wasn't time. I think he picked up on how crazy I am about you, though."

"You're crazy about me?" Jack says.

"You hadn't noticed?" Parse lifts their hands to his mouth, and, not taking his eyes off Jack's, kisses his knuckles.

"I am, too," Jack says. "I mean -- about you, but also, in general."

"I know," Parse says. "That's why I tried to give you space. Eventually."

"Thanks," Jack says. He copies Parse's hand-kissing gesture. He likes how soft it makes Parse look. "I needed it, I think. But now..."

"Now?" Parse says.

"I think now I need -- you," Jack says.

A smile blooms across Parse's face. "I think I need you, too, bro."

"Well," Jack says, and looks down at the length of their bodies, wrapped together. "You have me."

The future looks -- pretty okay, from here, he thinks.


End file.
